by T. J. Jones
Maggie stepped out suddenly from behind the Suburban with the Glock leveled at the pickup. The driver cranked the wheel and hit the gas, spun sideways, and raced off down the exit ramp. There was no license plate, and the best I could do was guess at the year of the Dodge Ram.
I climbed down from the top of the Suburban as Maggie slid the gun into her bag.
"You alright?" She asked.
I was shaking at little, but I didn't admit to it. "Yeah, I'm good. You?"
"I'm fine. I didn't know you could move that fast, Slater. Good thing, at least you're okay. My car didn't come out of it so great." We stood there surveying the damage to her car for a minute then Maggie looked at me again. "Think I can put this in the expense report?"
It was funny in a sad way, but at least neither one of us had been hurt, or worse. Was the intention to kill me, or just scare us? Immediately I thought of Rosalyn's boyfriend and the ugly look he'd sent me just hours ago. Maybe him, maybe not. Someone sure didn't like us poking around.
Chapter Ten
Everybody knows that when you're a kid, things are a lot simpler. When I was thirteen or fourteen my biggest challenges were avoiding Tommy Akerman after History class so he couldn't slap me on the side of the head with his notebook, and not getting caught looking at Angie Jeffries' behind. I knew my best friend was gay, but the subject never came up and except for an occasional dirty look from the guy at the gas station when we rode our bikes up there to buy pop, most people didn't seem to know or care. Maybe Mel, the gas station guy didn't care either. Maybe he just thought we were trying to steal candy from the rack when he wasn't looking.
But as I got older, I started seeing that it wasn't easy for Davey. We were friends but we didn't go to the same school so during the year I didn't see a lot of him, but I know he took a lot of abuse. There's a certain percentage of the population that's always going to hate anyone different than they are and use it for an excuse to do rotten things. Haters gonna' hate. Even Carson, the cigar chomping bar owner that was still on my list of suspects had heard that song. Had the cumulative effect of all that hate built up in Davey until he thought that was just the way the world worked and was something everyone did? Did he really think that what the White Devil had done to him and Rosalyn was even close to normal or acceptable?
Bottom line, I was feeling guilty that I hadn't done a better job of staying in touch with him, and done more to help him through those high school years. By the time junior year came around I had filled out considerably, started lifting weights and grew to my full height. Tommy Ackerman showed up at Angela's for a pool party one day and called Davey a faggot. I knocked him in the pool and dared him to try to climb out. Angie's Mom finally had to come out and pull me away so Tommy could go home. I couldn't help wishing I had been around a few more times like that when Davey really needed me. Maybe things would have been different.
"What are you thinking about?" Maggie asked. We were on the way home in the rental car, running late, but Maggie wanted to get home to look in on Angela.
"Just years ago, how much easier it was back then, hanging around with Angie and Davey, not a care in the world."
"I was there too, remember?"
"You were ten, inappropriate if I would have acknowledged your existence."
"Well, you didn't, so no worries. Just a lot of miles on my bicycle for no good reason." That made me laugh, which was nice. "But I think you're just remembering all the good stuff. I remember a lot of fighting, mostly Mom and Dad, but you were there a lot of the times. And Angela, she had all those teenage hormones, plus nobody had figured out she was bi-polar yet. It didn't bother you a lot, but I remember more than once Davey getting scared and running out of the house, just running all the way home without even taking his bicycle. I used to push it home for him sometimes before I was tall enough to reach the pedals and then I'd have to walk back."
"See? You were a little kid and you knew what he was going through. I should have helped him more, been a better friend."
"It's called being a teenager, Slater. Granted, I have no idea what he went through either. Did it set him up for what happened later? Maybe. Bottom line we still don't know exactly what all is going on here. Maybe what happened to Rosalyn didn't go down like she remembers. Maybe she was too drugged up to remember, or dreamt parts of it. I'm not making excuses for him, or saying that she's lying, but maybe the truth is in the middle somewhere."
"But what she said, the way she said it, at the very least she was telling us what she thinks she remembers. I had to believe her, it was just too painful to watch to not be real."
"Nothing in my experiences with Davey would ever make me think that he was capable of what she says he did, and most of the people we talked to agree. Not saying she's lying Slater, just saying there might be more to it."
"I need a break. Tomorrow I'm sleeping late, then I'll go get copies of those bank statements from Edith and look through them, compare everything."
"What did you find in the papers you got from Sam?"
"Didn't see anything interesting, just more bank statements. Okay if I sleep? Wake me up if you see any big black trucks trying to run us into the swamp, okay?"
***
Turned out getting licensed as a private detective was easier than being a licensed contractor. My experience in the Navy counted for a lot. There was an examination that I could study for online, an association I could join, and of course a hefty licensing fee. There was an apprentice program, but a couple phone calls took care of that. Normally you would expect to get paid a little something as an apprentice, but in my case the money was going the other way and there was no actual work involved. A bit unethical, but I was sure I knew as much as most of the retired cops already doing the job.
That wasn't true of pounding nails. I knew just enough to be dangerous. Fortunately, I could still buy a house or two and start the work, complete the licensing process, and by then start selling the updated homes. I didn't want to rent them out. I would clean them up, refurbish them and sell them. That was the plan.
I didn't sleep in but spent the morning researching my employment options. I found the card Frank's shill had left, James Kennedy, Land and Property Consultations. I called the number and left mine with the secretary that answered. Seemed unlikely I would ever hear back, but maybe I could pick up a couple houses without Frank Jeffries being involved.
After lunch I called Edith Templeton. She said she had some errands to run and would drop off copies of the bank statements she had. I was a little surprised she was willing to drive over, but she said she could find my place, no problem. I suspected that Eddy was around, and she didn't want him knowing what we were up to.
I spread everything I had out on the kitchen table, the notebook, the cards and the old bank statements Sam had given us. Some of the bank statements went back fifteen years. It was a history of how Davey had accumulated his wealth, all deposits, not one withdrawal. A lot of the deposits were paychecks from his employer, a monthly salary plus bonuses. The first couple of years the totals were modest. By 2005 the amounts started to be more substantial and his payroll was supplemented by cash deposits, usually ten thousand dollars, sometimes twenty. The amounts snowballed and each year the totals increased until the account was closed in the fall of 2013 with just over three million dollars in it.
He'd managed to put that amount away, working at a job that paid just over a hundred thousand a year, in under ten years. Obviously, the math didn't work. A hundred grand was a lot of money to a sailor, but considering Davey's lifestyle, it wouldn't have been a huge amount to him. The confusing thing was that in the last two years, as far as I could tell, every dime he made working at the talent agency had gone into the bank. How did he eat?
There was a knock on the door. I pushed the cards into a pile, covered them with the bank statements, then picked up the notebook and slipped it into my back pocket. I presumed it was Edith Templeton and I wasn't ready for her to see everything I had
taken from Davey's room.
Angela Jeffries stepped through my door looking as ethereal as the first time she had climbed out of the Templeton's pool that day so many years earlier. She smiled dreamily, and it didn't take a lot of imagination to see what she had in mind. I fought the impulse to give in to my demons, but she made it difficult. She looked incredible. Gone were the dark circles around her eyes, the gaunt look I had noticed that first night when we had talked about Davey's death. If it was sleep or the miracle of cosmetics, I wasn't sure. I didn't have time to wonder.
She rushed into my arms, smelling faintly of some exotic perfume and put her arms around me as she pushed me back against the kitchen wall. Without explanation she pulled my face down and kissed me, a deep penetrating kiss full of emotion and desire. My brain told me one thing but every other part of my body was screaming something else, and I gave into that urge for longer than I should have. Finally, I pushed her away, holding her at arm's length while she tried to continue the assault on my self-control.
"Angie, what the hell? What is this about?" I asked.
"Maggie told me what happened in Miami, how you almost got ran over down there. It made me realize how I feel, how I really feel. It should have always been you Eric, I want to be with you."
"Did you drive here? You don't taste like booze, but are you drunk, or high? Did you take something?"
"Is it so hard to believe that I would finally realize how much I care about you?" She was stuttering ever so slightly, and a second look at her eyes confirmed that her pupils were enlarged.
"Yes, as a matter of fact it is. Did you take something?" I asked again. I looked closely into her eyes and she smiled happily. A little too happily. I took her hand and led her to the couch. She sat down and looked at me, smiling vacantly.
"I love you Davey, please don't go away, please?" With that she flopped over onto her side and closed her eyes.
"Angela, wake up!" I shook her shoulder several times but she was out cold. I called Maggie. "Angie's here and I think she's messed up, she wasn't making a lot of sense. She just passed out on my couch."
"Shit, she must have found Mom's keys and took her car. She took something, sure as hell. Is she breathing alright?"
"Best I can tell, but she pretty much passed out, should I call 911?"
"I'll do that and I'll head over there. Get her on her feet Slater, make her move and don't let her fall asleep."
"Got it." I tossed the phone down and went back to the couch. I tried being gentle, but she wouldn't respond and a quick search for her pulse scared the hell out of me. I ran back to the sink and got a glass of water. I pulled her forward and shook her, roughly this time. No result. Desperate, I upended the glass of cold water, pouring the contents on her head, across her shoulders and down her back. She moaned softly and I grabbed both her hands and dragged her to her feet. She nearly collapsed, but then seemed to come to a little. I started walking her back and forth across the room, yelling her name every few seconds to try to keep her from going under.
Maggie burst through the door just as I heard the wail of sirens and helped me keep her on her feet. She snorted once, seemed to wake up and turned to me, smiling. "I love you Eric, more than anybody, I do." Then she dropped her head and was out. Maggie and I were carrying her at that point.
The EMT's came running in shouting instructions and asking questions. Maggie told them what she thought Angie had taken and they gave her a shot, then loaded her on a gurney. They had her in the ambulance within two minutes of the time they arrived, and Maggie climbed in beside her. She tossed me the keys to the rental. "Can you bring the car to the hospital, and call my Mom?"
"On my way! Don't worry Maggie, she'll be okay."
She looked at me dismally before the doors of the ambulance closed. "I don't think she's ever going to be okay Slater."
I grabbed my phone and called Rita Jeffries who was oblivious to the fact that Angie had taken her car. I explained and told her I would be picking her up. As I locked the door, Edith Templeton was stepping out of her car, a small bundle of papers in her hand.
"Sorry Edith, an emergency going on with Angie. She took something and they just left for the hospital."
"What can I do?" She asked anxiously.
"Any chance you'd pick up Rita and bring her back here to get her car?"
"She probably won't like that, but I'll do it. Which hospital, I'll follow her after we get back here."
"Memorial, I'll head straight up there."
***
"She's staying in treatment this time Mom. Fuck Dad, she needs to be under constant supervision. He gets no say in this." Maggie was pacing the floor in front of her mother. I wasn't sure if Frank even knew his daughter was in the hospital. Maggie glanced at me. "Every time this happens Dad says that she doesn't need treatment, that we can deal with it. Except he doesn't have to deal with it. You need to commit her Mom, don't even tell Dad this time. He'll sign her out first chance he gets."
"Okay Maggie, whatever you think is best." Rita said dully. Maggie stared at her like she might respond with violence, then spun and ran off in the direction of the bathroom. Edith Templeton got up from her seat and handed me the wad of papers she had continued to carry since her arrival, then hurried off after Maggie.
Rita sat in her chair looking at her hands for a while, then looked up at me. "I told you to let this go. Now you have Angie all worked up."
"There's more to this than her being worked up Rita, and it sure as hell isn't my fault. Your daughter has some serious problems. I'm sure the bipolar thing is hard enough, but there's more than that going on. She needs real, professional help. Davey dying has her tied in knots, she's starting to lose touch with reality."
"Maybe." She actually laughed at me. "Maybe that’s a good thing."
I was too mad to talk. I got up and found a coffee machine, then went downstairs and out into the street. I couldn't stand hospitals, they brought back the memory of my mother's death.
Maggie found me after fifteen minutes and sat beside me on the bench in front of the hospital. She bumped my shoulder and gave me half a smile. "She's going to be alright, they got to her in time."
"That's good. I hope your mother listens to you and she gets some real help."
"Mom just doesn't have the strength to deal with those two. Usually, after a few days Angie cries and begs and my Dad brings her home. Then he yells at me because I didn't watch her close enough and it starts all over again."
"Sorry. Sometimes I'm glad I'm an only child, an orphan at that."
"It's a hard knock life, right?"
I smiled, and looked into her eyes. "I really like you, you get that, right?"
"I like you too. So does my sister the way it sounded."
"She's messed up Maggie, that was just the pills talking."
"Maybe. Why'd she come to your house?"
"I really don't know."
"You have lipstick on your cheek, Angie's shade."
"I stopped her, like I said. She was confused. She called me Davey at one point."
"I just can't, you and I, not until I know she's alright."
"I get that. Just so you know, nothing would have happened even if she hadn't been doped up, I'm past that."
"Maybe, maybe you are." She reached out and wiped the lipstick stain from the edge of my mouth. "For now, until we all know how we feel, you and I are just two gumshoes working the same case, alright?"
I chuckled and took her hand. "Partners. But remember, I'm a Private Investigator, not a Chubby Gumshoe."
***
I didn't get home until almost midnight. I gave Maggie a wave and stumbled to the door, half awake. I turned the lock and walked in, tossed my keys on the table and reached for the light switch. I had a split second of warning and got my shoulder up. A fist, or possibly a club glanced off my shoulder and caught me on the side of the head, almost knocking me to the floor. It was enough of a blow to confuse me, but I lashed out and made some contact. I grab
bed for clothing or hair, anything to get ahold of my assailant to control the fight. I took another shot to the head that put me down and the front door banged open as the person escaped into the night.
By the time I got to my feet and turned the outside light on, he was long gone. I stumbled to the bathroom and assessed the damage. Luckily, I have a hard head. I had a jagged cut above my eye that bled a little, but a cold compress took care of that. I checked out the house. My computer was undisturbed, as was the small cache of cash I had hidden in my bedroom. The appearance of Angela had been unexpected, and all the cards and bank statements I had laid out had been forgotten in my haste to get to the hospital.
A quick glance confirmed that all the cards were missing, but the bank statements were scattered across the table and floor. I remembered the notebook suddenly, and reached back quickly. It was still there, tucked securely behind my billfold. Hard to say what they were looking for, or if I had interrupted them before they could finish. I walked out and did a quick perimeter search but happily my burglar had fled. I needed a gun.
Chapter Eleven
How's your head Slater?"
I was trying to fix my front door that had shattered when the burglar ran through it. Maggie wasn't helping, she was just talking a lot.
"Sore, but better. If I was you, I wouldn't hang around me. Whoever killed Davey doesn't seem to like me."
"Not necessarily the same person. There are a lot of people that don't like you."
Since romance was off the table, we were back to her being a smart aleck. "Funny! Your Dad doesn't like me. Kennedy's guy called and said they want nothing more to do with me. I think he heard about our incident in Miami."